


Eyes On the Prize

by Florance_Tallis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florance_Tallis/pseuds/Florance_Tallis
Summary: In retrospect everything falls into place.But first, everything must fall apart, so better things could fall together.Canon-compliant, in the aftermath of Dougal McGregor's death.





	1. Burning past

**Author's Note:**

> Let it hurt. Let it bleed. Let it heal. Then let it go.

He should not have read them. Those letters were meant to be personal. How would he feel in a reverse situation? Well, of course, it would bother him _only in case_ he found out that somebody else in fact had read through a series of his private letters. And she will not be informed about this.  
But still, what a fool he was for not being able to stop himself! All of the letters had been laying in a pile on her desk, and as he absently glanced at them, it became clear right away that those were love letters. _To her._  
And not from him.  
After all, the whole goddamn situation was screaming an invitation. An invitation to trespass. To discover the content of them. And Elphinstone just could not resist.

„ _Dear Minerva,...” „My dearest Minerva,...” „...not a day passes without thinking of you.” „I will never cease loving you.” „My dearest Minerva...” „...after all we have shared...” „I would be willing to do everything...” „My dearest Minerva...”_  
Emotionally charged wording, suggesting painful void, heartbreak, asking for clarification, and confessing ever-lasting true love.  
„ _My dearest Minerva..._ ” An evidence of a deep and beautiful, but bygone bond; an unfinished story. Slightly desperate, but sincere attempt to seek explanation of the „incomprehensible”.  
„ _My dearest Minerva...” „I am waiting for your answer.”_  
„Faithfully yours forever, Dougal”  
A dozen of letters, dated mid-1950s, not suggesting anywhere that the sender had ever received response in any form.  
Elphinstone stood there perplexed and stunned. It honestly never crossed his mind that apart from him, Minerva might have had anybody else in her life. Prior to him or... maybe a potential rival. He himself had never been short of self-confidence, but Merlin, what a fool he was to think that such a captivating, gorgeous woman would not have other suitors!  
And who the hell could be that _Dougal_? What could be „ _all they had shared”_? What is so „ _incomprehensible_ ”? Elphinstone would have liked to furiously dig into the pile of letters more than anything; to search through them and to understand. Quickly running through the lines from afar did him more wrong than self-restraint would have done. He really should not have read them, gosh darn it! Ignorance would have been bliss, he concluded bitterly as a fraction of a sentence caught his eyes.

„. _..breaking up our engagement when you love me? All I require is a short explanation, and I promise you, that I will never write you again. Please, understand that I need to know the reason, since you said you loved me even before._..” The lines were peeking from under another parchment. Elphinstone hastily moved the one on the top with a flick of his wand to be able to finish reading the entire sentence. „. _..you changed your mind and departed to London. Then why is it desirable to deny yourself, to deny us happiness_?”  
On the margin of the parchment, with the distinctly elegant letters of hers, another sentence was added which possibly later on – if not only a couple of hours ago –, was rather crossed out so strongly it damaged the parchment. „ ~~ _Then why is it desirable to chain myself for life to remorse and to the all-pervasive, never-subsiding heartache that springs up every time I think about the possibility of what if”? It is not desirable. And never meant to be._~~ ” The freshness of the ink was apparent on the aged pages.

Elphinstone’s mouth went dry in a second. He did not expect learning about anything of this sort when he crossed her door ten minutes ago. He stroked his beard, taking a look around as if remedy would be at hand somewhere in the room.  
On the other side of the desk, there laid another document, seemingly a death notification. He could not read it from where he was standing; it was upside down from his perspective. But before he could move, he heard her footsteps approaching. Not wanting to leave evidence behind, Elphinstone walked over to the other part of the office trying to tame his muddled thoughts. To his surprise, by the time she was there, he did not have to fake tranquillity, a strange numbness calmed him down completely.  
’Earl grey or coffee?’ Minerva appeared from behind the wall separating her office from her dormitory section. ’I don’t have a wide variety of selection, I must admit. Now that the new school year is right around the corner, I must stock up.’ Her voice sounded unusually lifeless and empty.

Elphinstone decided not to stay for long, and instead leave her to rest, for she admittedly felt sleep-deprived and was busy in the run up to September.  
Before he left, he felt strongly tempted to sneak out some of the parchments from her desk, but he ultimately found this plan undignified and immature to a senior ministry official, moreover, utterly disrespectful towards Minerva. Instead, he planted a kiss on her forehead, and said goodbye preparing to make his way to the door.  
Her arms however were around him unexpectedly, she was nuzzling up closely to his stout body. Her hug felt unusually tight around his space-bones, almost clinging. Was she even trembling slightly? After a long and silent minute Minerva released him, and with a painful smile rushed through:  
’Thank you for stopping by. You have no idea how much I appreciate it... and... you.’

 

She was crying all night again, unable to sleep. By the morning her tears however dried on their own, and the emptiness returned. It had been the second night in a row when she was drowning herself in unbearable pain since she got notified about Dougal’s death.  
Dougal McGregor was the best thing she never had. By her own choice. A choice she never ever regretted rationally, but the alternative cost of which was tremendous. And now that Dougal passed away, the bottle in which her emotions were locked away, first started leaking, and within a day, the pressure resulted in a catastrophic outburst. Her subconscious was gushing the carefully buried and contained memories. Everything surfaced: the half-buried shame, guilt, regret, remorse. And she could not re-live either the beautiful feelings she had been harboring for him, only a distant, numbed ache remained in the place of them – and this latter felt even more like torture. Where had all the wonderful sensations attached to him gone?  
The first night was the worst: tossing and turning in self-reproach. Self-reproach for not being able to come to his rescue when he was mercilessly murdered by Death Eaters during a random anti-Muggle attack; and self-reproach for how she had shattered his life and dreams when she ran away, leaving him without the slightest clue and without hopes.

By the third sleepless night, she could gain some control over herself, and face the ultimate question which had been in the back of her mind from the first moment she read the notification: _What am I grieving_? She found herself resisting the question. Of course, she was grieving Dougal! A who, and not a what!  
A persistent little voice in her head however, started to ask all sorts of questions. _What am I grieving?_  
_Who was Dougal for me? What am I vesting him with? What does he truly represent that died with him?_  
‘Stop!’ she spoke up in the darkness annoyed with herself. ‘This is insane. Lumos!’  
The warm light had a soothing effect on her. She intended to wait for the daybreak together with it, like she did last night and the night before that.  
For many, many years she indeed thought that Dougal McGregor symbolized the true and pure love she lost. The promise of happiness. But the dismantling, deconstructing whispering voice could not be hold back:  
_How long had you known each other? For barely two months? How long had you actually been in love with him before you said yes to him? Little over a month maybe? How many times did you kiss him? Twice, probably three times? Did you see him angered, did you know how he acted under pressure? No? Could have he really been your intellectual counterpart? Did you really mean to tie your life for good to somebody you just met at eighteen? Is not it something others call a teenage ‘crush’?_  
  
Idealized maybe, crush-like for sure, but it felt like what she thought was love; she was flying with Dougal. They were unearthed, unchained. In conversations with him she was discovering depths of herself and untapped energies she had not known about. She enjoyed the Minerva she became with him. It was core-shaking, soul-touching, deep and… immature love. Immature love, it was she admitted reluctantly.  
They were never meant to be. She had known it from the beginning, but she did not care initially, sweeping all the shadows aside, since being with him started out merely as exceedingly pleasant pastime – until he proposed, because then it suddenly stopped being a light-hearted romance. Minerva wondered whether she carried that much remorse in case she would have left behind only a sweet, longing memory of a summer love with pleasant walks under the stars – and not a misled and devastated fiancé.  
But marriage and engagement equaled devotion to her, something to be taken seriously: it meant being bonded and destined for life, in her eyes. Caging, self-sacrificing by nature. How come then she agreed so hastily to jump into it?  
She let him emotionally too close, therefore making herself too vulnerable: she unintentionally handed over the control to him without either of them realizing it; she was not her own master anymore. And it could never happen again. Love is destructive if mishandled, so is marriage, she had concluded. Her boggart had been a wedding ceremony ever since; tying the knot.

But did it hurt when he married another woman and she, Minerva realized she was replaceable?  
Yes it did.  
And when she suspected that he might have hated her for what she had put him through? Or oh, that he might have been longing for her secretly?  
Yes… yes these did hurt back then. Oh Merlin, did they hurt! And do they now?  
_Do they hurt you now?_ The little voice nudged. _Do they really?_  
_No_.

She let it sink in for a minute.  
But then where did this love go? And when did it disappear in thin air? She was glaring into the flame at the tip of her wand. It had been definitely there when she was living in London. It had been around when she started her teaching career. And it had been in Madam Puddifoot’s Teashop with its full effect, when her former boss and her most fond and esteemed friend proposed her the possibility to live the rest of their life together in wed _lock_.  
She felt it’s lingering presence when she first let herself laugh wholeheartedly with Elphinstone – as a gentle reminder that she should not –, and years later in that Saturday morning when she woke up in his bed for the first time. But her ever-haunting love for Dougal started to wane with time – even if she tried to hold onto it desperately – up to the point that in the past couple years its sting reappeared only when a certain proposal came up.  
Truth is, she had long outgrown her _crash_ on Dougal, she thought as she was laying back onto her bed sweating and shaking. And it somehow had caused her bad conscience, since the subconsciously imposed self-punishment for how she hurt him was about to disappear.  
How beautifully, how tragically had she imprisoned herself while trying to escape imprisonment!

However, after this long-due, but ever-dodged inner conversation she felt ready to walk out of her cage; the gates were wide open. She was half-dreaming already, drifting into blissful restorative sleep, but she clearly saw herself stepping out to the fresh air, feeling lighter than ever, more peaceful than ever. Dew was twinkling on the grass as the sun was rising, and a gentle rustling sound wrapped her around. The sound of burning parchment. The smoke of it blended subtly in the morning air.

And a pile of parchments was indeed burning in Minerva Mcgonagall’s fireplace a couple of hours later, despite the warm late-August weather. She felt liberation from the last remnants of her past with each and every parchment she tossed into the flames.  
By the time she finished, only gratitude remained in her heart for those two summer months of 1954. Nothing else.


	2. The end of the beginning

’Careful’ he called calmly and stepped right behind her.  
Her fine, dangling bracelet had accidentally wrapped around the necks and caps of the glass whiskey bottles resting on the drink tray. Two of the bottles even got slightly dragged as she wanted to move away.  
’Oh’ she noticed finally.  
Elphinstone was taking his time while attentively disentangling the jewelry. He did not bother using his wand, casually touching the skin of her forearm again and again in the process. Not that she minded it. Minerva could not surpass a smile as she was examining him from up close. His proximity, his aura, the woody-leathery smell of his cologne and his touch were simply gratifying and grounding. In the past couple years she often got engulfed with a distinct, immensely pleasant feeling in interactions with him. A feeling which could be best described as an unusual mixture of attraction, ever-stronger affection and gratitude, together with a strange, distantly familiar, tingling sensation. She found contentment in observing him; it had become a dear habit of hers.  
’There’ he declared on his low husky voice upon releasing her wrist from the fine fetter.  
’Are you finished?’ she asked in a rather more coquettish tone than she intended to.  
Elphinstone kissed her freed hand. ’With...?’  
He did not reciprocate the flirting for the first time ever; gently dropped her hand and walked away from her, feeling as if all the joviality perished from him in the past weeks.

The questions that had been tormenting him ever since, crawled back again, and he did not manage to shoo them away.  
When he held her, when he kissed her, when they made love – did she think of that Dougal? Could it be possible? That he had been living a lie? That she had been a lie? Her smile, her gestures, the affection in her eyes? Could she be faking It all? Elphinstone threw his half-finished cigar into the empty fireplace.  
Was she passionately debating overnight with that other man too about politics, philosophy, art and social issues? Could they understand each other by fractions of sentences too? Did they share the same interests and efforts? Could they be cooperating and collaborating just as harmoniously and with that much ease as Elphinstone and Minerva, both at the time of her employment at the Ministry and in recent years when she got involved in a secret spying and reporting activity towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Did she purr for him as well?

He was watching her by the fireplace. She seemed unruffled, light, composed; to be in a rather – may he say – pleasant mood. True, Minerva had always been unpredictable, but does he know her at all?  
As the years went by, they shed the boss-assistant role and were transitioning into genuine friendship – even despite his horribly timed marriage proposal. Although he made no secret of his intention to have her as his ally and romantic partner for life, and she made no secret of her unconventional views on marriage and of her objection towards being „relegated” to the role of a wife and maybe mother. Still, neither of them were willing to give up each other’s company, and since attraction between them could not be subdued, they slowly and tacitly settled for an _aurea mediocritas._ They were not lovers, the daughter of a reverend protested firmly, and not even Elphinstone knew what they actually were. All he knew was that he was head over heels in love with Minerva, and that it did not wane with the years. Maybe grew even deeper and stronger.  
And after a while, something appeared in her eyes too. He could not pretend not seeing it, no matter how hard he tried to be cautiously realistic about it. Recently it had not felt like sieging a castle upon each and every return; he had found the gates open many times, almost as a discreet invitation. She had grown more receptive, sometimes she even took the initiative. Elphinstone was almost entirely sure about a „yes” if he proposed next time. How he wished nothing more than to live a normal life with her by his side!  
Putting it all in perspective however... he was not sure about anything anymore. Was she reluctant about making their unholy bond official neither because of her conviction about the subjugation of women in marriage, nor because of the fear of being stigmatized as „laying with a Ministry top dog”, and potentionally making her a Death Eater target, but rather by waiting for somebody else to return in secret?  
She never answered ’I don’t want to marry you’, instead what she always said was _’I can’t’._ And he never pressed for clarification – up until now.

’Who is Dougal?’ He asked unexpectedly.  
’Who is...?’  
’Dougal, yes.’  
Silence. Her eyes grew apologetically wide, but that was about it; no proper answer followed.  
’Where did you hear this name?’ she asked then cautiously, almost suspiciously.  
’I did not hear it.’  
’Then from where did you...?’ Her eyes widened even further in terror. ’You read those letters...!’ She whispered in disbelief.  
’What letters, my darling? I merely threw a glance at that death notification on your desk’ he bluffed, keeping a straight face. Elphinstone had been putting on a show or twisted the interpretation of half-informations in courtrooms as a legal representative for decades, doing so in the face of the woman he loved nevertheless, was anything but pleasant. He did not see the name on the notification. It could have been anybody’s. But he went on tactfully. ’Was he a friend of yours?’  
’No... yes. Well no, not really. No’ Minerva replied dropping her eyes and swirling the drink around in her glass. ’A local farmer from the village I was born. My mother forwarded the notification to me.’  
Silence.  
’I see. My condolences.’  
She nodded.  
’I burned the letters’ she added unexpectedly, looking straight into his eyes.  
’What letters?’ They are playing a game already, Elphinstone thought. She does suspect that he had read them; this woman could not be fooled.  
’His letters.’  
’The ones on your desk?’  
’Yes.’  
Silence.  
’I should have done it before.’  
’And why did not you do it then?’ he asked eagerly before he could realize he just gave himself away.  
She smiled at him cheerlessly, then her gaze wandered away, up above his shoulders. ’I was not ready,...I guess.’  
’Hm’ he growled. Why does she seem so maddeningly laid-back and relaxed while talking about such a potentially deeply upsetting memory? Those freshly written and crossed sentences on that letter were evidence of an opposite state of mind: ... _to_ _chain_ _myself_ _for_ _life_ _to_ _remorse_ _and_ _to_ _the_ _all_ - _pervasive_ , _never_ - _subsiding_ _heartache_ _that_ _springs_ _up_ _every_ _time_ _I_ _think_ _about_ _the_ _possibility_ _of_ „ _what_ _if_ ”.  
’Pardon?’ She frowned.  
’It is getting late, Minerva. You’d better return to Hogwarts. I suppose you probably need proper rest and amid such emotionally demanding times, I do not wish to burden you with... anything really’ he said plainly as he was placing back his glass on the tray.  
’I... I don’t know, I just thought I would...’ she seemed confused suddenly.  
’...would find a good substitute.’  
It sounded harsh, probably harsher then should have, but the words could not be taken back anymore. Elphinstone had never ever used such a tone with her before, but now it just sickened him to assume that she was there to find comfort from him amid the loss of her former lover.  
He did not hear her arriving behind him, yet her gentle palm was suddenly on his shoulder. Elphinstone was still turning his back on her.  
’I am tired. Tired of it all, Minerva.’ There was something in his voice she had never heard before neither in his quality as tried and proved in-outflankable legal practitioner, nor as her untiring suitor: resignation. Lovelorn, disappointed resignation.  
’How long have we been playing this? Twenty years or so?’ Elphinstone closed his eyes. He did feel thrown off and deceived. Her palm was sliding from his shoulder; she was withdrawing. ’You just forgot to tell me along the way that all my efforts were in vain and were doomed to failure.’  
His bitter words were lingering around them in the earsplitting silence. Minerva desperately wanted to say something, but found herself unable to open her mouth.  
‘Let me share with you what I think. And please, be so gracious to correct me if it is otherwise, since I do not wish to be kept in the dark anymore’ he continued somberly. 'But what I think is that... you belong through and through to someone else in one way or another, and you are simply not willing to give it up.’  
Silence.  
’Simply... willing...’ she echoed in a daze. ’Elphinstone..., you are a frighteningly good reader of one’s character, but...’ He did not let her finish.  
’Am I...? Am I really?’ He sighed, feeling just the opposite: misled and robbed for many many years.

Although she was not honest with him, he did not actually want to start a blame game. Such a conduct never suited him.  
As a matter of fact, Elphinstone himself was blind too, focusing so obsessively on the prize that failed to notice the obvious. He was mad at himself for his lack of sensibility, his inability to read between the lines, or just... to simply believe what she said or had been trying to say all along. It was as if he suddenly saw the big picture, the entire landscape for the first time: it was crystal clear, flawlessly logical... and heartbreakingly raw. What a fool he was for so long! He turned around.

’Excuse me. Excuse my insensitivity.’ He paused, studying her for a while; but before the silence grew unbearable for Minerva, he spoke. ’I do understand in what a miserable condition you might be, and I do not mean to be unfair. I have no right to call you to account for... for... After all, you have never promised me anything. You just...’  
_Let_ _myself to be seduced, didn’t I?_ Minerva finished his sentence in her mind.  
’I have always been the one who was pushing for it’ Elphinstone went on, suddenly realizing that he had never ever heard an I love you from her lips. Yet the flashing memory of the lines in the other man’s letter – _you said you loved me_ – stabbed him right in the middle of his heart once again. ’I think I finally understood that your „no” is not a „maybe”, not even an invitation to be transformed into a „yes” in the distant future. Your „no” is not an exciting challenge; it is a fact. Your „no” is a no. I am genuinely sorry if I have been intrusive or caused you pain or inconvenience in any way...’  
’Elphinstone...’  
’...but I was just a fool in love. I still am. Not a good excuse, though, I myself would hardly accept it. Now, however...’  
He was apparently waging an entire war behind his self-possessed demeanor.  
’...I let you go’ he said at last.  
’Elphins... excuse me?’  
’I let you out of this unrequited, suffocating love of mine. Now I know that you will never return it. I do not want you in pieces anymore, once it turned out that the hope of having you wholly is just a mirage. I just can’t do it. And I never be able to accept being the second best option. But again..., what is more important: I want the best for you... and the best for you is clearly without me and all that follows being with me.’

What was he doing? Elphinstone kept questioning his own sanity throughout his rant. His words were just as spontaneous and dangerously honest (and based on just as little antecedent and background information), as his words when he was proposing marriage to his 22-year old ex-assistant after not having seen her for over a year.  
Unplanned displays of emotion neither had never turned out well, nor suited his otherwise reserved, unmoved personality. _Otherwise_ , since with this woman he had a hard time keeping together who he thought he was. With this fair, majestic woman, who was now standing in front of him confused, exhausted and shocked instead of looking relieved and liberated from his „unrequited love”.  
His heart broke even to glance at her. Especially knowing that his words only added insult to her original injury. But it was already a point of no return.

Minerva could not believe her ears. How ironic it was that he relinquished it all, right in front of the finishline, when she had already craved every bit of what came from being with him! How could she tell him that his conclusion pertains to what had faded already, what had finally passed?  
His confession monologue took her so much by surprise and shocked her so much with all its accuracy concerning the(ir) past, that she found herself utterly speechless. Instead, she tried to shook her head in denial, but she could not move.  
Now for the first time, Minerva could feel _his_ protective walls high up. She had only a vague idea of how much the realization might have hurt him, and that with such a step what he tried to protect was himself – and what had remained from their... relationship or whatever they had been involved in the past years.  
It did not make sense to stay at his place any longer. Both of them needed time to get their affairs in order.

There was a lot to digest. Especially Minerva’s last words which were echoing in Elphinstone’s head and heart in the coming _minervaless_  months, even if he was determined to cut her out from both of these places:  
’To me, you are unrivaled and second to none. You know it very well.’ That was all she managed to say before she left. 

Let’s face it, Elphinstone kept trying to persuade himself, it must be over. She had been in love with a ghost; and now, with a ghost of a ghost. Why fool himself? A dead man cannot be defeated or triumphed over.  _But maybe not you are the one, who has to defeat that_ _ghost_ – his conscience whispered.  _And why are you so sure that she has not_ _triumphed over it yet?_

The desire to know the answer however, was growing stronger with each passing day and with each of her incoming letters. (He stubbornly refused to open them.) And Elphinstone finally found himself at her doorstep. It was not that he could not live without that woman; it was that he did not want to.


	3. I have got you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I eventually decided to add this chapter, because I truly wanted to bring their business to conclusion, to incorporate the scene when Minerva accepts Elphinstone's marriage proposal.

I Great It took him two months to get there.  
Elphinstone decided to pay a visit to Hogwarts and talk things through with Minerva in person, because he eventually did not get the chance to read the content of her letters sent in the hope of a somewhat overdue explanation and clarification. The squib charlady – who after the incident was dismissed on short notice – set them on fire when she reinstalled the fireplace on a chilly late-October morning. Elphinstone had a bad habit of throwing things anyway into the fireplace when he was strained, but also, he would not lower himself, he thought, to wanting to scrape out those scraps of parchment from that ashy hole. Man, was he wrong!  
Nevertheless, it was too late, and All Hallow’s Eve of 1981 was greeted with cheerful, crackling fire, a terminated employment contract and a grumpy Deputy Head of the Department of the Magical Law Enforcement. At least it was Saturday, and so he notified Bartemius Crouch about wanting to have a proper weekend day – long needed –, and asked him to give notice of the occurrence of only the grave and urgent cases. How reckless, Elphinstone shrug his shoulders. He was just months away from retirement, and in the transitional period of power-handover he was protected in many senses. However, Crouch consented – although as if they were pulling his teeth. (“Fair enough, you have not had a break in weeks.”) Night and weekend duties have become almost constant at higher levels of the D.M.L.E. recently.

  
But Minerva did not open the door of her office. She was not in her classroom. Nor in the Professors’ Common Room. Being a former Slytherin, Elphinstone had no idea where to find the Gryffindor Common Room, as the last logical option inside the castle, therefore he returned to the doormat of her office and waited. An hour. Two. Time was dragging. At lunch break she did not appear in the Grand Hall either. It was hopeless. Most probably, she was not even around Hogwarts. He eventually decided to leave only a short note behind him.  
‘ _I was here. We need to talk. Please, let me know when it could be appropriate for you. Yours, E.U._ ’  
And then all hell broke loose. The first reports about the Potter-murder appeared around midnight. The brutality of the conduct required immediate action from the Ministry, but uncertainty grew with the gossip concerning the simultaneous downfall of the Dark Lord. The power of spells cast by or attributed to him expired or vanished, the country was awakening from more than a decade of depression. People just felt it; and the grapevine further fed their hopes about liberation. The first magical intelligence service reports confirmed the occurrence of the destruction in Godric’s Hollow. And the child disappeared by the time the Hit Wizards got there to assess the situation on the ground. It required almost one day to confirm his whereabouts – Little Whinging, Surrey, Privet Drive 4 – and it was still not clear how a one year old got there. Keeping it all under control was beyond hard. But the share of the lion from Elphinstone’s perspective as a criminal defense lawyer came only after the Death Eaters were being caught: their legal prosecution. Or so he assumed, but he ultimately had to step aside. For, now as Deputy Head of Department and as an outgoing official he could not be involved to the extent of actually taking up cases and standing his ground in the courtrooms. Nevertheless, he had not had a spare moment since the avalanche started.

  
‘He sends the incriminated to Azkaban without trial. He himself conducts the hearings without the slightest attention or respect of the rules of procedures,’ Elphinstone shared his discontent about Bartemius Crouch Sr. when Minerva finally stopped by the Ministry to formally request the termination of her cooperation contract with the D.M.L.E. on ‘provision of information’ – that is spying in cat form.  
‘How come he could do these unhindered?’ She now wore prescription glasses. They looked lovely on her, Elphinstone noted.  
‘The state of emergency is still in effect, under which in recent years former Minister Minchum had consented too many modifications - predominantly concerning spheres of authority. The fairly newcomer Millicent Bagold is yet to resolve the problems arising from it.’  
‘But being able to resort to certain instruments is one thing, and abusing them is another.’  
‘Exactly. Crouch wants to demonstrate power in the face of chaos. He is betting on Bagold’s position.’ He paused, apparently with the intention of dropping the topic of the conversation. ‘I like those glasses on you.’  
‘Thank you. What a shame I hate them.' She was turning to leave. 'I must go. Have a nice day, Mr. Urquart.’   
‘Mr. Urquart?’ he asked staggered. ‘So are walking that road again? Mr. Urquart and Professor McGonagall?’ Elphinstone had thought the presence of witnesses was the reason she constrained herself greeting him as Mr. Urquart upon her arrival. In public or in the presence of a third person, they had always called each other by their surnames. But there was no other soul in the room at that moment.  
‘It is easier. By desensitizing it. Your name, I mean. The sweetness of ‘Elphinstone’ is taken away.’ Minerva dropped her eyes, regretting immediately the word she chose. ‘I mean, connotation-wise... the sweetness that is.’  
Elphinstone stared at her.  
‘It hurts less,’ she continued, although she wished she could stop. ’And since you are so eagerly pushing me out of your life… Whatever. I am talking nonsense.’  
Minerva felt her face blushing in embarrassment suddenly. Has she lost her mind, for Merlin’s sake? That men dismissed her heavily wounded, and now instead of being content about having been able to strike a conversational tone with him, she gets something she has never been: emotional.  
‘I am not pushing you out of my life,’ he grumbled.  
‘Come on, we have not been in touch for months. It is almost February. February! You did not even bother to answer my letters. And I highly doubt that you read them. Yes, I do understand that… you are mad at me, but what about the _audiatur et altera pars_?’ Tears gathered in her eyes. She took her glasses off swiftly, and touched her lower lashline to stop the teardrops from rolling down. ’But do not worry, sir, I understood the message. And you are right. Our friendship has been damaged beyond repair. Let’s then keep it strictly professional, shall we? Our previous conversation is the proof of how perfectly can we pull that off.’’  
‘Could you do that? Keeping it strictly professional?’ He stepped closer.  
‘Am I really the one who always had difficulties with that?’ Minerva snapped.  
‘Minerva, look at me, listen to me’ Elphinstone stepped even closer and lifted her chin. ‘I want to hear your side of the story, of course I do. This is the reason why I went to Hogwarts and left that note back in…’  
‘Step back, please,’ Minerva asked suddenly, interrupting him. ‘You are too close.’ His proximity was to much to bare; he was too close, yet not close enough at the same time.  
She made a half-hearted attempt to push his forearm away, the hand of which was holding her chin oh so lightly, almost barely touching her skin. But in the end what she did, rather resembled a stroke on his forearm as the move lost impetus. ‘I ask respectfully… not to send mixed messages and let me go.’  
‘Would you like me to let you go?’ Elphinstone asked on such a tone of his deep, throaty voice that Minerva had always found so disarming and irresistible. ‘Is that what you want?’  
‘Please… don’t… I…’ She barely breathed the words, not even knowing what she intended to say. Don’t let me go? Don’t hurt me? I don’t know?  
And then he kissed her. And kissed her again. And Minerva let him; just to make herself believe once more that everything could be again as it used to be. But it wasn’t. Something changed, something missed. _Dougal_. His sting was not there anymore. Minerva wreathed her arms around the neck of her former boss, and let herself completely sink into the kiss. Just for the last time, she thought, her heart aching. Once he heard the whole story reinforcing his fears about two decades of insincerity and dishonesty, he might never want to see her again. But now, now she wanted nothing more than being in his strong arms for an eternal moment of false promises.  
There was a knock on the door. They broke apart at once, Elphinstone quickly neatened his robes and looked at Minerva. His gaze dropped onto her lips.  
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, having fixed her lipstick. ‘Let them in.’  
Elphinstone was studying her unfathomably for a long moment, before sounded ‘ _Yes_ ’.  
The door opened; it was the secretary, according to who the ‘unusually and frighteningly displeased Head of Department Crouch’ requested entry at once. While Crouch reached his office, Elphinstone turned to Minerva:  
‘Your letters turned into ashes in the fireplace, unopened. By accident,’ he added quickly. ‘But I sincerely need to hear what I have not let you tell me since August.’  
‘I _wrote_ them on purpose,’ she hissed glancing at the approaching figure of Crouch. 'I am not sure whether I could talk about it.'  
‘Write them again’ he asked, giving her a concealed look of entreaty.  
‘Goodbye, Mr. Urquart.’ Minerva raised her voice as the careworn-looking Crouch got in earshot. ‘I thank you for your time, sir, and I wish you a pleasant day.’

Writing was easier, and also, somewhat therapeutic. She wrote about what happened, how she felt in the process; explained what she had been carrying as a result, how she felt about it in retrospect, and where she was now. It took twelve rounds, respectively twelve letters to finish what she wanted to share with him. She gave them to Elphinstone in person, and waited for him to finish reading them. This degree of vulnerability from her side could have been unimaginable even a couple years ago. They did not discuss content-wise anything that did not pertain explicitly to Elphinstone, since he did not feel entitled to comment on issues with such sensitivity. The deal was to react to Minerva’s choices once he got all the letters, hence seeing the entire picture.

In the meantime spring had sprung; Bartemius Crouch Jr. was imprisoned for life in Azkaban – Elphinstone could only persuade his father, whose career took a downhill direction after the scandal, to arrange at least a court hearing to him -, and all the old Slytherin old boys got discouraged from repeatedly asking for favorable treatment for their suspected Death Eater upsprings – or alas, for themselves. In this context Abraxas Malfoy proved to be a particularly tough and dangerous nut to crack, and Elphinstone was still battling with his conscience long after Lucius Malfoy had been acquitted of all charges; even if all he had done was to manage to persuade – by entirely legitimate means – one of his best criminal defense lawyer colleges to took the boy’s defense.  
All in all, Elphinstone did not manage to retire on schedule. The Deputy Head of Department had wanted to leave it all behind by the end of the year, or maximum before turning 66, but he was only able to leave office in May. However, on that opportunity he was not willing to compromise. To begin with, he had never had to work for money, anyways. His work was a passion which took over his life as he was climbing the Ministry ladder. As descendant of a wealthy pure-blood wizard family, he could have chosen the way Abraxas did; meddling with politics from the outside while building his clientele. Elphinstone glanced into the mirror before leaving his London apartment. Could he look himself in the eye if he had done so? He took his time to examine his reflection for a while. A tall wizard of dignified posture with sedate, yet self-assured expression was looking back at him, whose wavy hair and well-groomed short beard had turned white during the past years, but whose sturdy built still held without turning fat or sloppy. He looked slightly tired, yet healthy.

  
They agreed on meeting by the lake for their last session. It was a splendid and warm Sunday afternoon. The students enjoyed their last Hogsmade visit before the end of the schoolyear; the estate was unruffled. So was the lake by which he found Minerva, standing with her eyes closed, hair down. The black locks were floating in the wind around her face; the possibly least Minerva-like scene one could ever imagine. Elphinstone smiled at the sight. Who else knew apart from him that the tight bun was for taming misbehaving loose curls and soft ringlets?  
In their tale-time he had grown to admire her bravery in opening up to such an extent to him, and Elphinstone harbored no judgement or resentment against her whatsoever. With understanding came understanding, and he could not see her behavior as deception anymore. The paralyzing sensation of the realization that ’it is over’, ’it has never been’, and the emptiness of the past autumn have all shifted by the eleventh letter. Everything had been told, he could not possibly think what the last letter could contained which made him change his mind.  
’There is no twelfth letter,' she declared. They were standing side by side, facing the lake, staring at its calm surface. ’Initially I wanted to write „I am sorry. Could you forgive me?”, but then it seemed that… what I needed, what _we_ needed was not really _your_  forgiveness… in the first place.’  
Elphinstone turned his head questioningly towards her, waiting for elaboration. Minerva was still staring at the lake, twinkling a bit in the beaming sunlight.  
’I have forgiven myself,' she said at last.  
The water continued lapping gently at their feet. Minutes passed in silence, yet the power of her words, which felt even more impactful when said out loud, was lingering around them.  
Minerva inhaled deeply. She felt Elphinstone’s hands reaching for hers; their fingers interlocked.  
’I have never,  _never_ meant to hurt you. You read it all, you know it, but I would like to hear if… _now_ you could forgive me for all the distress that I have caused.' She turned her head, looking straight into his eyes.   
’Yes, I could. I have.’ He smiled. ’I was such an insensitive egoist, that for a moment I just forgot that you are… well, human too. With all the rights and responsibilities to make your own life choices, and with absolute legitimate reasons behind what you do or refrain from doing.’  
’You are not an insensitive egoist,’ she smiled back, squeezing his hand.  
’Well then, now that it is settled,' Elphinstone began with a hint of playfulness. 'Do you think, my favorite human being that our special friendship could be restored?’  
’No, I think our friendship has been indeed damaged beyond repair. Nothing can be as it was before,’ Minerva said lightly; there was no pain in her voice. She felt Elphinstone’s uncomprehending gaze on her at once, but she went on. ’These past couple of months, this whole process were excellent for realizing that…’  
’Minerva, if only I could take those cruel words back… the ones with which I had sent you away, I…’  
’There is no need for that. The truth is that…’ She paused. ’I cannot look at you as a friend anymore, Elphinstone. I just can’t.’  
How could he misunderstood her to such an extent? For him, what these months did, was to make him realize that he did not want to live the rest of his life without her.  
But suddenly he could almost see himself from afar in that very moment. The stubborn and the spoiled; the one who was used to eventually getting what he wanted. The one who had been depressed over having to admit a faiulre – his only failure so far; having to admit that some goals are beyond reach. That love sometimes equals letting go. That no is no. Going through it once had been more than challenging; repeating it after having regained the bliss of hope, seemed to be the hardest undertaking ever.  
’Very well. I… yes, I of course can respect it. I respect it, I mean… If you wish to take that road… It has been a rough patch, and... you are entitled to draw such a conclusion. I surely… can keep things strictly professional.’ He felt stunned in the worst way possible. Would cutting it all off bring real remedy and healing? ’But please tell me… why?’  
She leaned onto his shoulder, still holding his hand. A gentle whiff of her perfume hit his senses. So this is how it ends, Elphinstone thought. Still better than in confusion and resentment. At least now things were clear and settled. No drama, no bitter aftertaste, no heads turning away awkwardly at unintentional encounters. But why does it have to end now? _Why?_  
’Because I fell in love with you.’ She looked up from his shoulder.  
And the world stopped. Time froze. The water ceased lapping, the birds singing, his heart bleeding. The words he had been waiting for in the past decades, were spoken. Without asking, without pressing, without paraphrasing. Willingly, freely, sincerely. Hearing it from the lips of the 22 year-old Minerva would have been haven, but a lie; hearing it from the 46 year-old Minerva came in the minutes of living hell, still it was sweeter than anything else.  
’Not now, probably a while ago,' Minerva continued, smoothly cuddling against him like a cat. ’But these past couple months, this whole process were excellent for realizing and admitting it to myself. And that I do not want to live the rest of my life without you.’  
Elphinstone remained speechless.  
’You read it all, didn’t you? What is written between the lines could be summed up in three words.’  
’Let me... hear those three words.’ It was all he was able to utter amid his confusion.  
’I love you,’ she said with a soft smile. ’I love you Elphinstone Urquart. You, and only you. A way in which I have never loved anybody else before. You are The One.’  
So he was not hallucinating. It was real, it was happening. Slowly, cautiously such an incomprehensible joy filled his body, mind and soul that he had never experienced before. Elphinstone wanted to reach out for her and took her in his arms, but before he could move, he felt Minerva’s lips brushing against his. All he had to do was to embrace her.

’I thought you do not believe in having, or being "The One". If I remember correctly, it is because „ _people don’t belong to each other, Elphinstone, emotional bonding is limiting and fettering the self; companionship is just a fragile interpersonal construction_ ”’ he recited her own words as a reminder without mocking them. They were still strolling by the lake, watching the late-afternoon Sun slowly creeping towards the horizon.  
’Indeed, but in the meantime I might have come across a particularly durable interpersonal construction, which, you know, might assist the growth of the individuals involved, rather than limiting it.’ She smiled at him. ’I could believe in such an alliance.’  
’But not in an alliance sanctified by a particular civil contract.’  
Minerva stopped. ’Oh, you mean, the one in which the woman loses her name, must compromise her personal aspirations in favor of bearing an heir, running a household and conforming to some social ideals of questionable reasonablility?’  
Elphinstone lifted an eyebrow meaningfully. ’The ever-recurring topic of the subjugation of women…’ They had debated it over billions of times. He was too a supporter of gender equality by conviction.  
’So _now_ you find it amusing?’ she asked with a rather sharp emphasis, seeing his smirk. The fierce Minerva had been brought back to life in a snap after months of numbness.  
’I highly doubt I would ever be able to subjugate you, even if such an intention existed,’ he laughed deeply – probably for the first time in a long while. ’I do not want to own you. If I wanted a woman behind me, not by my side, then I wouldn’t have chased you. I thought it was evident.’  
He really thought is was.  
’What I am proposing you,’ he continued, ’is a real and true alliance that would neither cripple your wings, nor make you conform to any social expectations. The institution of marriage might be flawed in general, but as two intelligent adults, we have the luxury of designing it together as we please. I don’t care if you keep your name and put your career first. But I am done with hiding as if being involved in some shameful or illicit activity. I just want to be with you properly; and not dreading that one of my unintentional telltale expression in public would trigger some nasty gossip running in the background.’  
’This last one actually exhausts the category of conforming to social expec… No, I… yes. Yes, I understand what you are saying,’ Minerva paused, changing course halfway through the sentence. Would it be worth scoring another intellectual goal in the very moment when their ideals appear to be actually converging?  
They were standing in silence for a while. She was in, _he_ knew. She was in, _she_ knew.  
’Actually, the proposal of such a relationship...’ Minerva began again tentatively, swinging a bit their still interlocked hands.  
’Yes?’  
’… does not seem to be that daunting anymore. More so, quite enticing.’ She leaned back to his shoulder. ’Making up our own rules.’  
’Making up our own rules.’  
’As a man skilled in law, you love rules, and love reinterpreting the rules, don’t you?’  
’There is one thing I love more.’  
’And that being…?' she asked, knowing the answer in advance. The answer which had always been gratifying in a special way when said in that low, raspy voice:  
’Loving you.’  
Only that now, no remorse or bad conscience was attached to it.

  
Minerva had a strange feeling of absolute harmony. There were no more „why”s, „how”s, and no more, definitely no more „who”s. Only one. But that one with deep certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prequel of this three-chapter long story take a look at my work entitled 'Leap day'. Thank you for reading!


End file.
